


(This Time) We're in it to Stay

by ArtemisRayne



Series: May Look at a King - A Newsies Felisian AU [8]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Felisian, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Cat/Human Hybrids, Communication Failure, Established Relationship, Felisian!Jack, Fights, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jack Needs a Hug, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: In the post-midterms exhaustion, tempers are short and what starts as a simple annoyance spirals out of control fast. When all is said and done, when the adrenaline fades and Davey's left with nothing but the cold reality, he doesn't even remember most of what they said to each other. All he really knows is- "Sarah, I think Jack and I just broke up."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *cowers* Don't hate me, you all knew it was coming eventually.

When the whole thing is over, when the adrenaline and rush of emotions finally flood away and Davey's left with nothing but cold reality, he doesn't even remember most of what was said. It's all a blur inside his head, a chaotic maelstrom with just a few moments captured in time like still-shots behind his eyes. He remembers how it started-

_("Did you even sleep last night? You're gonna kill yourself if you keep pulling all-nighters like that, Jacky."_

_"S'fine, I got eight more lives to burn."_

_"Oh my God, would you just_ stop _already?")_

-a standard, throwaway comment sparking against Davey's brain, still fried from the recent midterms, and igniting his shorter-than-usual temper. It's a conversation that was a long time coming for them, but the worst possible way to start it.

Most of the middle of the argument is hazy-

_("Youse never had a problem with it 'fore."_

_"Course I did, I was just hoping you'd get over it."_

_"I ain't apologizin' for bein' me, Dave. S'just who I am.")_

-nothing more than fragments of words thrown in anger-

_("I just don't get why you think you've gotta do that with me."_

_"What, you think youse special?"_

_"Yes. I thought you trusted me enough to not keep putting up a fucking front!")_

-until the anger turned to hurt-

_("Well I'm sorry I ain'tcha perfect li'l pet."_

_"Don't even start that. You know I've never treated you like that."_

_"Oh yeah? 'Cause ya ain't pissed I don't roll over and purr like a good kitty?"_

_"That's not what this is at all, damn it!")_

-and the whole thing culminated in harsh, bitter words aimed to kill.

_("Stop twisting my words, Jack. I just want to understand."_

_"Ain't nothin' to understand. I ain't your fuckin' housecat and I ain't gonna act like one."_

_"If you really believe that's what I think of you, I don't think this relationship's gonna work."_

_"You know where the door's at.")_

So Davey had turned and walked away, and Jack made no motion to stop him. Wrapped up in the rage and hurt and fury, Davey's been walking blindly, his body on autopilot to carry him back down the familiar path toward campus. It's only when he finds himself facing the doors to his building that he finally sinks back into the real world and the truth hits him like a freight train.

A sob catches in his throat that makes Davey realize he's crying, tears cold on his cheeks in the late autumn evening, and his hands are shaking when he fumbles to dig out his keys. He ducks his head to avoid the gaze of anyone else, even though he knows people will still see. Davey half-runs across the rec room and up the stairs and doesn't stop until the door to his dorm is locked behind him.

Legs giving out, Davey crumples to sit with his back to the door, not even bothering to take off his jacket or shoes. The broken fragments of the fight swirl inside his head, stabbing against the inside of his skull like knives, and he squeezes his eyes shut. How did it go so wrong? How did this happen?

Davey pulls out his phone without thinking, tapping the contact and pressing the phone to his ear. It rings three times before- "Hey Davey, what's up?"

"Sarah, I-" Davey's voice breaks and he winces, swallowing hard.

"Dave?" Sarah asks, tone instantly brisk and concerned. "Davey, you okay? Ugh, one sec." He can hear her huff, sounds of movement, and then the background noise fades. "Davey, talk to me. You okay?"

"Not really," Davey admits with a watery laugh. "Sorry, were you busy? I should've-"

"Nuh-uh, don't even start that," Sarah interrupts. "My roommate's just noisy, I stepped out so I could hear. I didn't luck into a single room like you. But you know I'm never busy for the other half of the Super-Twins." Davey chuffs a weak sound at the memory, an old make-pretend game they'd played when they were little. "So talk to me," Sarah says firmly. "What's wrong?"

Davey takes a shaky breath, the truth snagging on his tongue. "I think Jack and I just broke up."

* * *

Davey and Jack don't speak for four days.

Davey goes to great lengths to avoid the café and any place where he knows his path might cross with Jack's between classes, spending most of his free time either in his dorm or in the library. It's not that Davey doesn't want to talk to Jack - he has to stop himself more than once when he thinks of something funny and instinctively starts typing out a text to Jack before remembering they aren't speaking. He even considers extending an olive branch, trying to smooth things out - Davey's man enough to admit he started the fight, and unfairly at that - because he misses Jack's presence in his life, but he stops himself.

Sure, Davey misses Jack, but he's still hurt too. He's hurt by the accusations thrown his way and he's hurt by the memory of the apartment door closing behind him without protest. Jack let him go - _told him_ to go - and Davey's not going to go crawling back, no matter how much his world feels off-kilter with Jack's absence.

(And maybe a little more _because_ of that, because a small part of Davey hates that he let this one boy come to define his life so much so fast. He won't let his time at NYU begin and end with Jack. Because he refuses to let himself be that guy who lets his whole world get ruined by one boy again. He's grown up, he's better than that. Davey doesn't _need_ Jack Kelly, he'll survive just fine without him.)

So Davey goes about his days as normally as he can, going through his classes and his shifts at the library and throwing himself into his homework to keep his mind busy.

It surprises him when Specs shows up at his door the day after the fight to check on him - "I won't make you talk about it if you don't wanna, promise. But you're my friend now too, which means I'm here to bug ya 'til you feel better." And Davey's so relieved he skips his next classes to binge an entire season of shitty reality TV in Specs' dorm. When Davey finally breaks, spilling his side of the fight to Specs, the other boy just lets him vent with a knowing look.

"I just can't believe he really thinks I think of him that way," Davey finishes with a weary sigh, dragging his wrist across his eyes to check for stray tears.

"He doesn't," Specs responds simply, his smile sad. "I dunno all of what went on with you two, but I do know that. You're different, and I think that's what scares him. I'm not makin' excuses for him," Specs adds hastily, holding up a hand to stop Davey's argument before it can start, "I'm just sayin' what I think. And I think there's a bit of Jack that's so used to thinkin' of himself like that, he forgets not everyone's that way." Specs shrugs, nudging his glasses back into place. "But I don't know for sure, obviously, and I'm not gonna play middleman. You gotta talk to him 'bout that."

Davey nods, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. "I know. I will," he says, even as the thought sends a spasm through his chest. Like it or not, he knows they do still need to talk, to tie up loose ends at the very least. "I just - I'm not ready. Not today."

"Yeah, I get it," Specs says companionably. He picks up the remote for the little TV on his desk and grins. "Up for another episode?"

So they make it four days.

It's late in the evening of the fourth day when Davey's phone vibrates on his bedside table. Glancing up from his textbook, Davey feels his stomach turn over when he sees the name at the top of the notification. The screen goes dark again a second later, and Davey hesitates before reaching out to grab the phone, unlocking the screen to check the text.

_> Jack: hey davey can we talk? _

Davey bites his lip, pulse racing as his thumb hovers over the screen. Part of him wants to text back immediately, but his pride is still smarting, and he feels jilted that after four days of complete silence, all he gets is a simple text like that. Not to mention, the text rings a little too close to the old "we need to talk" line that everyone knows spells doom. Davey shakes his head; if Jack's going to break up with him, he'd better at least put in a little more effort than that.

He's about to put the phone aside and go back to his homework when the little bubble in the box appears, letting him know Jack's typing.

_> Jack: please?? _

Davey can't stop a snort at the addition. It reminds him of a little kid who's still learning manners, the way they always tack on the 'please' at the end as soon as their parents remind them. Davey hates that he finds it endearing more than anything, especially while he's still mad.

Letting out a slow breath, Davey taps into the box and types a response.

_> Davey: Ok. When? _

Jack's answer comes almost immediately.

_> Jack: let me in? _

Davey's eyes widen, confused, and he's halfway to his feet when two more texts come through, one right after the other.

_> Jack: please _

_> Jack: its cold _

Crossing to the tiny window, Davey pushes aside the blinds to squint down at the dark sidewalk below. It's impossible to make out features from three floors up, but among the usual stray students wandering around campus in the growing twilight, Davey immediately picks out a lone figure standing under one of the lampposts, hands illuminated by the blue glow of a phone screen and slow sway of a dark tail behind them. Davey is torn between annoyed and amused as he grabs his keys and heads for the door in his socks.

Jack is shuffling just outside the building doors when Davey reaches the lobby, arms wrapped around his chest and shoulders hunched against the cold. His ears snap forward at the sound of the door opening and a shallow, nervous smile dashes across his lips. "Hey."

"Haven't you ever heard of a jacket?" Davey says in lieu of a greeting, stepping aside to let Jack into the building. The felisian ducks his head as he comes in, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "What were you gonna do if I said no?"

Jack shrugs, and his grin turns self-deprecating. "Make Specs lemme in so I could whine at him all night, pro'lly," he admits, the latent accent surging in thick to betray his nerves. "So make sure ya let him know whatcha just saved him from." The laugh is entirely involuntary, and Davey looks away, irritated with himself. He's supposed to be mad at Jack, not laughing with him, but after four days, he's mostly just _tired_. Tired of fighting, of the tension, of not knowing.

"Anyway," Jack says, licking his lips nervously, "I getcha pro'lly aren't in much mood to see me righ'now, but I just - I got somethin' I wanna say, and then you can gimme the boot. Please?"

Davey swallows, heart hammering against his ribs painfully. He's anxious and uncomfortable, but it's nothing on how Jack looks standing opposite him, ears drawn flat and tail lashing in sharp, jagged movements. There's a cluster of girls on one of the nearby sofas who are none-too-subtly eavesdropping and Davey shoots an annoyed look at them.

"Yeah, okay, c'mon," he says to Jack, nodding toward the stairs. The felisian's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Unless you'd rather have an audience for this conversation," Davey adds pointedly, sparing another withering glance at the girls.

"Right, yeah, definitely not," Jack agrees. "Just - yeah, okay." Davey leads the way back up to his dorm room, his heart rate picking up with each step they take. By the time the door is safely shut behind them, Davey's hands are shaking, and he hastily folds his arms to hide it. He's suddenly distinctly aware of the fact he's in his pajamas, the worn tee-shirt and too-short flannel pants leaving him feeling oddly vulnerable.

Shuffling in front of him, the harsh fluorescent lighting emphasizes the heavy shadows under Jack's eyes and the redness of his nose from cold. He's doing that thing where he holds his tail perfectly still, trying to mask his emotions, but the felisian is picking distractedly at one of his fingernails to the point that it's bleeding a little. Jack looks tired and drawn, somehow smaller than usual, and it chips at the weight sitting on Davey's chest.

"You wanted to say something?" Davey prompts, curling his arms tighter around his chest.

"M'sorry, a'right?" The sentence bursts out of Jack in a rush, his tail flicking once, and the defensiveness in it ruffles Davey in response. Jack winces, holding up his hands in an aborted, pacifying gesture. "Didn't mean it like that," he says hastily. "Sorry. Just - not good at this. Had this all planned out in my head 'fore I got here, and now it's gone all-" He waves a hand flippantly, making an irked noise. Exhaling heavily, he drags his hand down his face, and now his voice is just pure exhaustion. "Just, I'm sorry. That's what I wanted ta' say. I'm sorry."

Davey deflates at the weary resignation in Jack's face. He knew getting into this that Jack has issues with opening up to people, and he knows how much it must've taken for Jack to even come here for that. So Davey sits down on the edge of the bed and pats the spot next to him. The felisian hesitates for a second before he toes out of his shoes and sits down on his heels, his tail curled and tucked up against his back.

From this close, Davey can see that there's a faint shadow on Jack's cheekbone, the area around the edge of his eye a little swollen and red. "You been getting in fights?" Davey asks, brow furrowed, and he gestures to his own cheek in demonstration.

Jack huffs, touching the spot tenderly. "Wasn't so much a fight," he confesses, shrugging. "Spot got tired of my mopin'."

"So he _punched_ you?" Davey asks, scowling.

"He takes the sayin' 'knock some sense into him' sorta literal," Jack says with a laugh. At Davey's scandalized look, he adds, "In his defense, s'not like he didn't try talkin' first, I just - wasn't really listening. S'fine. I sorta needed it, I think, 'cause he was right." The felisian sets his jaw, lifting his chin to face Davey squarely, and there's a determination to his eyes alongside the nerves. "Youse good for me - pro'lly _too_ good for me, if I'm honest - and you make me wanna be better, ya know? And I don't blame you if ya still wanna kick me to the curb, and I know I'm a couple days late sayin' it, but I couldn't letcha go without sayin' _something_ , or I was gonna hate myself for it.

"So here goes: I know I'm not good at being a boyfriend. I'm not good at talkin' about stuff, least the important stuff. And that's why you scare me, Davey, 'cause you make me feel that, ya know? Scares the fuckin' shit outta me. And that ain't an excuse, I know that, but it's true. But it definitely weren't an excuse for the shit I said and I'm sorry 'bout that. I won't promise I won't fuck up again 'cause we both know I'm gonna," the felisian smirks sardonically, scratching his neck again. "But the last coupl'a days sucked hard without ya and I dunno, just - I wanna try, if you still wanna."

Jack looks up at him through his lashes, dragging his bottom lip beneath an eye tooth nervously, and Davey's chest feels like it's being crushed in a vice. Blinking back the faint burning at the corner of his eyes, Davey offers a shaky smile. "That's not a bad start for someone who says he's never done this before," he offers.

It's like the sun coming up behind Jack's eyes when he smiles, his posturing relaxing and ears swiveling forward. "Fo'sure?" he asks tentatively.

Davey nods, wiping his eyes on the back of his wrist, just in case. "For sure," he parrots, his grin a little teasing. "But Jack, if we're doing this, we've got to have a real talk about things, okay? Because what you said - You know I've never thought of you like that."

"Nah, course not," Jack says immediately, and his expression is pained. "I know you ain't like that, I do. I just - I was mad and scared, and I said a lotta stupid shit I shouldn'a." He winces and glances down at his hands in his lap; the nail of his thumb is bleeding where he's picking at it again. "Wasn't fair ta' say that 'bout ya," he adds, softer.

"No, it wasn't," Davey agrees. He draws his legs up to his chest, propping his chin on his knee. "But while we're apologizing, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you the way I did. I was upset but it definitely wasn't the right way to bring it up."

Wrapping his tail around his side, Jack cards his fingers through the fur distractedly. "Dave, I ain't gonna stop making those jokes," he says, quiet but resolute. "That's - it's just how I deal. Helps me not get mad when folks assume the stupid things they always assume, ya know?"

"I get that," Davey says because he's always understood at least that part of it. He's seen Jack use a casual joke to deflect someone's expectations, to undermine the assumptions that people make about him based on his ears and tail. "It's not really the jokes that bug me. But when it's just us and you brush me off with jokes like that, it makes me feel like you think _I'm_ one of those 'stupid people.' You see what I mean?"

Jack looks up, his hand stilling abruptly in his fur, and his eyes are wide. The blatant surprise and realization in the felisian's gaze makes a sharp pang go through Davey's chest, because it tells him that Jack really _didn't_ understand that's what he meant. "Apparently we both need to work on communicating," Davey says ruefully. "Jack, it's when you shut me out that it really hurts. When you brush me off with those jokes, or when you do that thing where you fold your ears back and stop your tail to try and hide what you're thinking. It makes me feel like you don't trust me."

"That ain't it," Jack interjects hastily. He drops his tail to reach out and take Davey's hand, threading their fingers together. It feels like something that's been out of alignment finally snapping back into place, and Davey exhales. "Wasn't tryna make you feel that way, promise. I just - got some bad habits that I guess I ain't done a good job of breakin'."

"It hurts seeing you feel like you can't just be yourself," Davey continues, squeezing Jack's hand. "Like you always have to be on guard and act a certain way. There's nothing wrong with being felisian and you shouldn't be ashamed of it."

"They's just jokes," says Jack, but his eyes dart away and his left ear flits.

Davey's smile is sad as he scoots closer until his legs bump against Jack's knees. "No, they're not, and we both know it," he says simply. "And even if they were, you're not just a punchline. You shouldn't have to feel like you have to make jokes or apologize for what you are."

"Ev'ryone got somethin' they don't like 'bout themselves, right?" Jack counters, aiming for nonchalant but missing it by a mile.

Licking his lips, Davey considers that with a frown. "I hate my ears," he says deliberately. "But I don't hate _myself_ for having my ears."

The felisian cringes. "That ain't - I don't hate myself," he says and even manages to meet Davey's eyes as he says it. "Really, I don't. Not anymore, least. S'just like I said; old habits and all." He scrubs his free hand over his eyes, and his next breath is shaky and damp. Jack forces on a smile, but it's broken and fragile on his lips, a vain attempt at a mask.

"Hey, it's okay," Davey says, suddenly understanding where this is coming from. "It's fine if there's stuff you're not ready to talk about."

"Nah, m'good," Jack says, shaking his head. "Can do this. I _wanna_ do this." He takes a slow breath to steel himself, his grip tightening on Davey's hand. "Thing is, my old man hates felisians. Ev'rything 'bout it. And he weren't shy about telling ya it either. And I know he's wrong, I know it's not really a bad thing to be felisian, just - sometimes I still hear it, ya know? Hate it, but I'll hear him sayin' it and that feelin' comes back."

Davey nods, rubbing his thumb over Jack's soothingly. It's a feeling Davey can understand in a way; even all these years later, every once in a while he'll remember that rabbi telling him there's no place in the temple for a sodomite, and he feels like a little kid being tossed out of God's embrace all over again. However, to have that sort of hatred and rejection come from your own parent is something Davey can't fathom, that a parent could make their child feel like their existence is wrong.

At the same time, something about the whole thing strikes Davey as off and his brow furrows. Everyone knows felisianism is hereditary, and as far as he knows, cases of spontaneous mutation are one in a million. Any felisian kid should have at least one felisian parent, which would mean- "Wait, wasn't your mom felisian?" Davey asks uncertainly. "If he didn't like felisians, why would he-?"

Jack looks up and his lips sketch something that might've been a smile if there were any humor in it. "I'm a purebred kitty," he responds wryly. " _Both_ my folks."

Davey's eyes go wide, awe and horror settling over him as he slots that piece of information into place in his head. "He was felisian but he hated felisians?" Davey clarifies tentatively, so many things suddenly making sense in the worst possible way.

"Never said he was smart," Jack says with a shrug. "A bitter, mean old bastard, but no genius. Always said felisians was a weaker species. What good's a person can't even handle the normal noises of the city? A fella that can't even put on a strong face 'cause his damn ears give him 'way? Or gotta watch his ears in the shower? Or got this useless bit of fluff," he curls the end of his tail between his fingers again pointedly, "that don't do nothing but give ya another weakness? Another place for folks ta' hurt ya?"

A cold weight sinks through Davey's chest, his gaze on where Jack's tail is still tucked close to his side. He knows Jack is skittish about his tail being touched, and Davey's always had his suspicions about the small lumps of long-healed breaks beneath the fur. "Did he-?" Davey can't bring himself to finish the question, nausea churning in his gut, but he doesn't need to; the look on Jack's face is answer enough. "Fucking hell, Jack."

"I ain't sayin' it 'cause I want you to feel bad for me or nothing," Jack says firmly, swiping a hand across his eyes again. "Just - that's why I make jokes and stuff, 'cause it's the way I learned to deal. Was raised to be as human as possible, 'cause being anythin' else got me in trouble. And it's been a long time and I know that's not the way it is anymore, but I guess I just didn't notice how much I never stopped bein' that way before you."

"God, Jack, I-" Davey's voice catches and he can't find the words. With a huff, he tugs the felisian closer and wraps him in a hug. Jack melts into his arms like a sigh of relief, nuzzling his face into the curve of Davey's neck as his fingers twist up in the back of Davey's shirt. When he feels the faint tremors that roll up Jack's spine, Davey just holds on tighter.

After a minute, Jack draws back, but only far enough to claim Davey's mouth. There are tears on his cheeks, his hands still shaking where he clings to Davey, but Jack kisses him like a drowning man chasing air. And somehow Davey gets it; he knows how Jack uses touch to keep his world in order, and that he must be feeling vulnerable after talking about his past. Besides, after four days apart, Davey's not opposed to a little contact either.

By the time they finally break apart, they're lying side-by-side on Davey's narrow dorm bed, so thoroughly tangled together it's hard to tell where one begins and the other ends. Jack keeps his forehead pressed to Davey's, sharing breaths, and his tail is coiled almost possessively along Davey's hip. Smiling softly, Jack nudges his nose against Davey's. "Missed ya."

"Missed you too," Davey replies, freeing one hand to smooth down a bit of Jack's hair where it's sticking up behind his ear. The felisian leans into the contact, arcing his neck to press his scalp to Davey's palm, so he keeps his hand there. "We're some sorta hot mess, huh?"

Jack chuckles, eyes brightening. "Maybe a li'l bit," he agrees. "But we's good?"

There's so much hopefulness in it that it almost hurts, and Davey drags him in for another kiss. Jack's hand on his waist flexes rhythmically, fingertips kneading into Davey's side. "Yeah, we're good," Davey says, and then the slant of his lips turns a little playful. "You're lucky you make such good pancakes."

"Oh, _now_ the truth comes out," Jack says, rolling his eyes. "He only wants me for the food."

"What did you expect, really?" Davey replies. "That's what you get for wooing a guy with coffee. I have expectations now."

Laughing, Jack hooks his calf behind Davey's and draws it closer. "Hmm, my bad. Well, I'll try and keep up with that." And although he still says it jokingly, there's more sincerity to his gaze that gives it a weight, and Davey's chest warms at the promise in the subtext.

It's been a long week and Davey's exhausted in every way. He doesn't want to move, isn't ready to give up the comfort of being wrapped up in Jack's arms again, but it's getting late. Davey considers for a second, rubbing his fingers into that spot at the base of Jack's ear that always makes him blink sleepily. "You don't work the early tomorrow, right?"

"Nah, I'm closin' tomorrow," Jack says. "Why?"

"Well, I'm not about to let my idiot boyfriend walk home at night without a jacket," Davey responds teasingly. "This time of year? You'd freeze to death. Guess you're stuck 'til morning."

Jack grins, tipping his head as he watches Davey sit up. "Thought you ain't supposed to have comp'ny overnight?"

"I'm not," Davey concedes, standing. "So keep the snoring down." He laughs at Jack's indignant protest as he crosses to make sure the door is locked. "I've got a shirt you can borrow if you want," he offers, eyeing Jack's flannel button-up and jeans. "But I don't know if any of my sweats will fit you."

"M'fine," Jack says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's warm in here, and two of us in this li'l bed, I ain't gonna get cold. 'Sides, I hate havin' my tail tucked in." Davey nods in understanding; he remembers Les throwing a fit when he was stuck wearing a pair of normal cut slacks - borrowed from a cousin in an emergency - and complaining that having his tail trapped in his pant leg made him jittery and claustrophobic.

As Jack strips down to his boxers and undershirt, Davey plugs his phone into the charger and then shuts off the light. He crosses back to the bed in the dark and slides under the covers with Jack. The felisian immediately pulls Davey back against his chest, molding himself around Davey like a second blanket. Twining their legs together and draping an arm over his waist, Jack nuzzles into the juncture between neck and shoulder affectionately. "Mmm, that's betta."

The week's been long and tiring, and Davey knows there's still more conversations they need to have in the near future. It's going to be an uphill road, tackling their way through both of their emotional baggage. Tonight, though, feels like a good first step. They've survived their first real fight, and now they've got something of a foundation to build from. _Together_.

Davey feels Jack's heart beating against his back, thoroughly surrounded by his warmth, and he threads his fingers with the hand on his chest. "Yeah," he agrees, shivering when Jack's ear flutters against his shoulder. "That's better."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise?! So while writing the last one, I had the whole confrontation where Spot finally loses his patience with Jack in my head, and I kind of hated that it wasn't more than an aside comment. So I started typing and - oops, random little Jack introspection piece! 
> 
> Follows Jack's thought processes leading up to his decision to reach out to Davey to apologize. 
> 
> TW: The references and implications of child abuse are much more frank in this one because we're in Jack's head this time.

"A'right, that's it."

In hindsight, Jack feels like he should've seen it coming, but he doesn't. He's completely caught off guard when the blow lands on his cheekbone, the force of it sending him tumbling backward over the coffee table and into a heap on the floor. For a moment, the world is blissfully, frighteningly _blank_ beneath a veil of shock and Jack can only lay where he's fallen, stunned. His cheek is throbbing just under his right eye, and he can taste copper where the inside of his cheek cut open against his teeth. As Jack's gaze pans up to the figure standing over him, the shock gives way to rage.

"What the fuck, Sean?"

Spot folds his arms, glaring down at Jack with an unimpressed look. "Oh, good, you finally gonna listen to me now?"

"You just fuckin' _punched_ me," Jack snarls, shoving himself upright to tower over his older brother. Spot doesn't so much as blink, his piercing yellow eyes following Jack's movements unconcernedly. Jack shoves him and Spot takes two steps back with the force of it, still not breaking the staring contest.

"Yeah, I socked ya," Spot agrees, "and I'mma do it again if you don't check ya'self. The shit that's been comin' outta your mouth the last couple days ain't gonna fly no more, got it? I was tryna letcha work through this on ya own 'cause I know youse busted up 'bout Davey, but that's done now."

"Oh that so, huh?" Jack says daringly. "Ya think you get to pick what I say, do ya?"

Spot bristles threateningly, his eyes narrowed and ears pulling back against his skull. "Unda my roof, yeah."

"Or what?" Jack taunts, taking a step closer. A low growl of warning picks up in Spot's chest, an instinctive noise that sets Jack's already frayed nerves on end. "Ya gonna punch me again?"

"Since that seems to be the only way ta' make ya listen, yeah," Spot replies coolly. "Judging by the shit you been sayin', sounds like your pops is the only one you listenin' to anymore. Figured the only way to getcha to listen to me is treatin' ya like he did."

Jack recoils, shoving the older man by the shoulder again before he stalks away to the other end of the room. He can feel the restless energy burning under his skin, can feel the way his tail wants to lash with it, but he forces himself still and folds his ears back.

_(Man up, don't let folks see - only a cissy goes showin' folks whenever he's upset.)_

He snarls again as he pushes the thought away; it's not a voice he wants in his head and it's already been making far too many appearances lately. "Ya got no right bringin' him into this."

"Youse the one brought him into this. The way you've been talkin' don't sound like my brother. You sound like that punk ass kid from the system was all determined ta' make everyone hate him s'much as he hated himself." Spot raises an eyebrow in a challenge when Jack throws a furious look at him. "And frankly, I'm starting to take the tail-shamin' personally. So how 'bout you getcha head outta your ass and start acting like my li'l brother again?"

"I ain't the one tail-shamin' no one," Jack shoots back bitterly.

Spot snorts. "Yeah, sure," he says sarcastically. "So all them comments 'bout how youse better than stupid shit like purrin' and pettin', that ain't tail-shamin'? 'Cause it sure sounds like it from here, but maybe my dumb cat ears just ain't hearin' ya clear."

"I'm not a fuckin' _cat_!" Jack bellows.

"No, youse a felisian," Spot says levelly. "Just like me. Yeah, I got a tail and ears, and all the shit that comes with it; skewed senses, involuntary reflexes, and yeah, sometimes when I'm happy I fuckin' purr. So what? Just 'cause it's somethin' a cat does too, that doesn't make me some sorta lesser person, no matter what your fuckin' pops said."

Jack flinches even as he determinedly tries to cling to his anger. "That ain't what I was sayin'."

"Yeah, it is," Spot responds. He shifts his weight, his posture softening ever so slightly and the sweep of his tail slowing. "Shit, Jacky, I knew your pops done a number on you, but I thought you were better than this. And I _know_ Davey's better than that."

"He's the one who started it," Jack says, Spot's words twisting in his chest like a knife. "He's the one got a problem with what I am."

"Bullshit," Spot says. "That boy ain't got a problem with you bein' felisian, and we both know it. Fuck, you said he's got a brother that's felisian. Why would he suddenly have a problem with your tail? Youse just makin' him the bad guy 'cause then it gives ya an excuse ta' run. Now I dunno what all went down between you two the otha day, but I do know this: that boy's the best thing's happened to your sorry ass in a long time. You're a diff'rent person since you met Davey, and I ain't seen you happy like that in years."

Jack winces, and when he feels tears burn at the corners of his eyes, he wipes angrily at them. "Don't matter, he left," he says, staring down at his hands without actually seeing them.

On the other side of the coffee table, Spot scoffs. "So? Ya know how many times Tony stormed outta here when we first started datin'? Dude's a fuckin' firecracker. Me and him were fightin' as much as we were talkin' back then. Don't mean we just gave up. Bein' with someone means ya gotta stick your pride on the shelf sometimes, and you gotta let 'em see ya be weak. It ain't easy, but either you learn how or you end up alone. So that's whatcha gotta think about now, Jack. You gotta decide which thing you wanna keep more: your pride or Davey?"

"I can't-" Jack's voice catches in his throat, and he huffs, carding a hand through his hair to hide how it's shaking. "He ain't gonna want me," he finally says and hates himself for the way his voice cracks. "Not after this."

"Pretty sure that's for him to decide," Spot says resolutely. "But you ain't gonna know 'til you ask." Jack hears Spot's footsteps, but he still can't stop himself from flinching when hands settle on his shoulders bracingly. "Jacky, you listen close to me, 'kay? You and me, we might be a li'l fucked up, but that doesn't make us bad people. Just means it's gonna take more work for you to let ya'self have good things. That voice sayin' you don't deserve 'em? That's your pops. And he can go to hell." Jack laughs under his breath, swiping his hand over his eyes again. "The old man already took so much from ya. You gonna let him take Dave too?"

The firm, quiet understanding in Spot's voice sinks straight through the chink in Jack's armor, seeking it out like a homing missile and slipping right passed his shields, and he feels his defenses crumbling around him. He isn't aware that he's trembling until Spot steers him towards the nearby armchair, and Jack curls up on the cushions as he fights to regain control over his emotions. Spot squeezes his shoulder reassuringly as Jack draws his legs up to his chest and wraps his tail around himself.

"You want me to stay, or you wanna be alone?" Jack shakes his head, prying one hand off his shin to wave him away. "M'kay," Spot says, letting his hand drop. "You know where I am if ya need me." Jack listens to Spot's steps retreating, and the door to his bedroom shuts behind him. Burrowing his face in his knees, Jack hugs his legs to his chest and lets it all wash over him while there's no one to see.

It's a good hour later before Jack can finally get his breathing back down to a steady level. He dries his face on his sleeves and stands, the joints in his back popping after so long spent hunched over. Now that the raw emotion is gone, his head is racing, and he feels jittery and restless.

Jack ducks into the bathroom, splashing water onto his face, and he glances up at his reflection in the mirror. He grimaces at his reddened, swollen eyes, and the heavy shadows under them. The last few days have been exhausting and yet Jack can barely sleep, keyed up on that anxious energy he gets whenever his emotions run high; the one that always makes him want to run _and run **and** **run**_ until he can escape from the pain and breathe freely again. It's the same one humming beneath his skin right now, and he's moving toward the front door before he even consciously decides it.

"I'mma go for a walk," he hollers at Spot's bedroom door and then slips into the landing without waiting for a response.

It's midafternoon on a Friday, and the New York streets are packed with people, business folk heading home from work and college kids headed out for the start of the weekend. Jack slips seamlessly into the general hum of life on the sidewalk and lets the currents tug him along without a destination in mind. He just needs to be moving, to expel that itch in his muscles so he can think straight.

Like it always does, Jack's brain immediately starts replaying his fight with Davey against the back of his eyes. It started so fast, out of nowhere, and Jack still doesn't understand what caused it. One minute they were fine, the next Davey was laying into him over a stupid joke. The sudden attack put Jack on the defensive, too much experience with unexpected mood changes triggering a fight-or-flight reflex he thought was long gone.

_(Don'tcha growl at me, ya li'l shit. Ya gonna act like an animal, I'mma treat ya like one.)_

Jack grimaces and ducks his head, shaking the memory off. This fight wasn't like that; _Davey_ isn't like that. Sure, Jack doesn't know what he did to make Davey so mad all of a sudden, but he knows Davey wouldn't hurt him. At least, he knows that _now_. In the moment, all he'd known was that a comment about being felisian had set Davey off and Jack defaulted back into old habits.

Which is really what he did, now that he thinks about it objectively. It's not something he's ever thought about but it's exactly the way he always reacted to his father's abrupt turns of mood. Be human, be normal. Don't bite with fangs, bite with words. Deflect and twist and get the attention off you as fast as possible, let him wear himself out yelling so he doesn't have the energy to punch.

 _Fuck_.

Letting out a shaky breath, Jack scrubs his hands over his face as he follows the drifting crowds across the street. Maybe Spot's right. Hell, he thinks some of what he said to Davey might've been something he heard his old man shouting in one of his drunken rages.

Which is shit because Jack knows Davey doesn't think of him like that. Whatever his issue with Jack's jokes, Davey is always so - _unbothered_ by Jack being felisian. The way he doesn't blink when Jack reacts to noises Davey can't hear, or how he never says anything if a growl or a hiss escapes Jack, or how he is always so careful about Jack's tail.

_(Keep that stupid thing outta the way or I'mma chop it off.)_

Davey's not like that. Davey's hands are always gentle on his tail, never touching without permission, never pulling or twisting or squeezing. Just long fingers gliding through fur, soft and tender, exactly the same way he brushes his thumb over Jack's cheek, or how he kisses Jack in greeting. Davey treats Jack's tail just like he treats every other part of him.

And Jack fucking misses him. They haven't spoken since the fight and Jack's going out of his mind. No matter how much he tries to be mad, how much he tries to hate Davey, Jack still feels his absence like a missing tooth - a gap that he can't help but keep prodding with his tongue even though he knows there's nothing there.

He feels it in the way the first thing he does in the morning is check his phone for a text complaining about how early his Spanish class is before remembering Davey isn't texting him right now. He feels it in the way his heart jumps into his throat whenever a dark-haired person slips into the coffee shop during his shift until he remembers Davey's avoiding him. He feels it in the way he doodles aimlessly in the margins of his lecture notes only to glance down at the end of class and find himself facing a pair of too-familiar eyes with little laugh lines at the corners and a soft spark in them.

Jack Kelly doesn't do commitments. He knew in that very first date with Davey that if he didn't run for the hills, the only way it could possibly end was in heartbreak. And here he is, wandering the streets of New York as the autumn sun sets, heartbroken, exactly like he predicted. Unless-

Spot's right. Jack can't remember ever feeling as good as he feels when he's with Davey, even when they're just watching TV or doing homework together. Davey pushes him, makes him try harder, and not just in school but in everything. It scares Jack more than anything because he knows that the more effort he puts in, the more he'll lose if it all goes south.

But the part of him that's scared is the part that remembers watching his old man tear his drawings into confetti, telling him that unless he learned to be human - be normal - he was never gonna be worth more than an alley stray.

It's the part of him that still expects to have his ears boxed for making any noise that's not distinctly human, to have his tail twisted for letting it give away his feelings.

It's the part of him created by his father, a piece that Jack thought he outgrew years ago, but he's not going to let that bastard have any more power over him.

Jack doesn't even realize his feet have carried him to campus until he hears someone call his name, one of his co-workers from the coffee shop waving on their way out at the end of their shift. Distractedly, Jack waves back and then his eyes dart passed the shop toward the dorm building on the other end of the courtyard. Windows are little squares of white against the darkness; two rooms on this side have already put up Christmas lights, borders of tiny blinking rainbows. He counts the windows out of habit; three up, seventh from the left-

The light is on.

Hands shaking from nerves - and cold, holy shit, the sun went down and it got fucking _cold_ \- Jack pulls out his phone as he half-jogs across the courtyard. There's a text from Spot on his notifications, just a quick "Call if you need backup" that was sent two hours ago when Jack first left the apartment, but Jack dismisses it with a swipe.

If the price of keeping Davey is his pride, Jack can take that blow. What he _can't_ do is keep existing in this awful limbo. He needs to know, so he can either run home with his tail between his legs to lick his wounds or - well, hopefully not. And he needs to do it now before he loses his nerve.

Leaning against the lamppost at the edge of the sidewalk, Jack taps open the text screen and takes a deep breath.

_ >Jack: hey davey can we talk? _


End file.
